괜찮아 - 한강

괜찮아 - 한강

태어나 두 달이 되었을 때
아이는 저녁마다 울었다
배고파서도 아니고
어디가 아파서도 아니고
아무 이유도 없이
해질녘부터 밤까지 꼬박 세 시간
거품 같은 아이가 꺼져버릴까 봐
나는 두 팔로 껴안고
집 안을 수없이 돌며 물었다
왜 그래,
왜 그래,
왜 그래,
내 눈물이 떨어져
아이의 눈물에 섞이기도 했다
그러던 어느 날
문득 말해봤다
누가 가르쳐준 것도 아닌데
괜찮아.
괜찮아.
이제 괜찮아.
거짓말처럼
아이의 울음이 그치진 않았지만
누그러진 건 오히려
내 울음이었지만,
다만, 우연의 일치였겠지만
며칠 뒤부터 아이는 저녁 울음을 멈췄다
서른 넘어서야 그렇게 알았다
내 안의 당신이 흐느낄 때
어떻게 해야 하는지
울부짖는 아이의 얼굴을 들여다보듯
짜디짠 거품 같은 눈물을 향해
괜찮아
왜 그래,가 아니라
괜찮아
이제 괜찮아.


“괜찮아 (It’s Okay)” by Han Kang:

When the baby was two months old,
He cried every evening.
Not because he was hungry,
Not because he was in pain,
For no reason at all.
From sunset till night, for three full hours,
I was afraid that the baby,
like a fragile bubble, might burst.
So I held him tightly in my arms,
and paced around the house endlessly, asking:
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
What’s wrong?
Tears fell from my eyes,
sometimes mixing with his tears.
Then one day,
suddenly, I tried saying it,
even though no one had taught me:
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
It’s okay now.
As if by magic,
the baby’s crying didn’t stop.
It was my crying that subsided,
and yet, as a mere coincidence,
a few days later, the baby stopped crying in the evenings.

It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I realized,
when something inside me sobs,
what I should do.
I must look at the face of the wailing child within me,
and at those bitter, salty tears,
like delicate foam, and say:
It’s okay.
Not “What’s wrong?” but
It’s okay.
It’s okay now.